


Hobby

by psychosomatic86



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Also a REALLY dumb innuendo, And Carlos benefits from it, But Cecil is the sweetest, Fluff, M/M, My take on some Night Vale weirdness, Seriously it's just a lot of weird fluff and geeky craft nonsense, try and see if you get it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:09:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychosomatic86/pseuds/psychosomatic86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil loves waiting up for Carlos when he's running a bit late from work at the lab because it gives him time to partake in one of his favorite pastimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hobby

Carlos had called him after the show, said he was going to be a bit late getting home. Apparently something scientifically exciting was happening at the lab, though Cecil hadn’t paid too much attention as to what. Sure, he loved his boyfriend’s profession, he was _very_ into science, but the technicalities of it all just sort of flew in one ear and out through the exhalation of each breath that symbolized the inevitability one’s own demise. Or so the old saying went.

He didn’t mind waiting up for Carlos, he loved seeing his boyfriend come through the door, eyes drooping from overworked staring, lovely hair only the slightest bit deflated, and a tired smile that just hinted at revealing those perfect, _perfect_ teeth.

Carlos had told him many times that he didn’t have to wait up for him. He knew what long days Cecil had at the station and how precious adequate sleep was in Night Vale. He knew how everyone’s collective dream energy helped protect the citizen’s minds from infiltration by the City Council’s Night Terror Terriers. Yes, they were dogs, maybe not sentient ones, but dogs nonetheless, and they needed exercise just as all dogs do. Of course, the fact that the City Council saw exercise as causing rampant, citizen-wide night terrors was just ridiculous.

Cecil had waved off the comment, saying there was enough dream energy that he could take a few nights to get to bed a little later than usual. The Faceless Old Woman had backed up this sentiment by replacing all of Carlos’ left socks with the dried skin of a monitor lizard.

And so, Cecil sat on the couch, leaning back into the plush cushions. The kitchen light was on, and a single lamp cast a warm glow in the living room where he was situated, hands working at a furious pace.

Another thing he loved about Carlos’ late nights was he had time to partake in his hobby. He found a few moments here and there to do it, but most of the time he was extremely busy with the show and the upkeep of the apartment and, of course, spending every other moment with Carlos.

Khoshekh also seemed to enjoy his hobby as it gave him the opportunity to sharpen his hunting skills. As Cecil’s hands flew with expert speed, he lowered himself to the ground, eyes all pupil, tail flicking, head watching, body twitching.

He sprang, teeth and claws sinking into the balls, batting furiously with his hind legs.

“AH! NO! Khoshekh!” Cecil swatted him away, and the feline raced into a darkened corner, eyes glowing furiously.

“You’re such a cliche, you know that?” He chuckled at the ridiculous cat as he untangled the yarn at his feet, re-situating the needles in his hands, and looping the threads back over his pinky and index fingers before continuing. It took him a few stitches before he found the rhythm again, and then his hands were flying. To any non-knitter, the movements might have looked like impossible speeds to be able to create fabric with yarn and metal sticks, but to him, it was a gentle pace that if anything, needed improvement.

_“Purple, purple, black, purple, black, black, black, purple...”_

He mumbled the colors as he worked the intarsia pattern from memory, fingers switching back and forth between the two yarns as his eyes squinched in concentration. His mother had made a blanket of the same colors that had swirled in fantastic, tentacular loops, and he wanted to get the pattern down before he forgot that, too. Of course, his version would look different because he wasn’t using the same yarn. Yes, the colors were the same, but the yarn was… different, and, of course, the City Council was to blame.

He had been at the meeting, ten years ago he wanted to say, when they had banned yarn. Threats of a coup had surfaced, and the Council was adamantly banning any object, or person, that could not be thoroughly explained and cleared of evidence that pointed to them as saboteurs. Yarn was number 7 on the list of suspects. They had stipulated that an object that could make something from nothing, that could transform from sporadic string to something of use, that could _create_ , was too dangerous and held foreboding of government overthrow. Cecil had argued feverishly alongside Old Woman Josie (she had actually been the one to teach him to knit), stating how he had worked with yarn for years, and no threats or disturbances had ever occurred. They took down his statement, glaring with bulbous eyes, but listening nonetheless, and said they would consider his argument in the ultimate decision of the banishment.

Cecil had felt relief at this, but soon changed his mind when he got home that evening. He arrived in his bedroom to find an expensive silk-cashmere blend tangled in a mess all over his bed relaying a message: _Arguing on our part will not spare you in the end._ Above the words, a size twelve needle had been stabbed, viciously, into his pillow. He had immediately gotten back into his car, driven to Town Hall, and retracted his previous statement. Afterwards, he gathered all of his yarn (a substantial stash as all knitters have) and burned it in his sink.

In the end, yarn was banned, but he and Josie (and several others from the Night Vale Knit’s club) argued for a replacement, they weren’t all about to give up one of their favorite hobbies. And so the Council came up with what was called _not-yarn_ simply by eradicating the actual existence of the yarn, leaving in its place, a hollow shell of what was once real yarn, but that didn’t technically exist. To the untrained eye, it looked like any other yarn, it felt like any other yarn, and it worked just fine for all manner of projects. But to anyone who has knit almost their entire life, it was a finicky replacement to adjust to.

For one thing, it tended to shimmer out of existence at random times, you could still feel it between your fingers, you just couldn’t see it. And sometimes the opposite happened, you would still see it, but the sensation of it would be lost. The strangest quality of all, however, was the look it gave to finished projects. If you caught the completed fabric at just the right angle, you could see a glimpse of what looked like the glimmering impermanence of your own existence mixed with the unforgiving, ceaseless appetite of the void.

The Council had just shrugged their simultaneous shoulders when comments about the yarn’s oddities arose saying that, _“Oh, well, there’s bound to be some hiccups with a product that doesn’t actually exist.”_

And so, Cecil sat knitting with his yarn, that was not technically real, but was yarn nonetheless, needles clicking, Khoshekh watching and occasionally batting with a paw, and impermanent colors twisting and weaving to create a blanket of unparalleled beauty, terror, and imperfection. He was so engrossed in his work that he barely heard the muffled sound of keys jingling outside the apartment door. He looked up just as a very weary but still smiling Carlos trudged in.

“M home…” He mumbled tiredly as he gave a little wave to Cecil who smiled at him from the couch, his hands still moving furiously.

“Hi, sweetie.” Cecil lifted a hand from one of his needles to return the wave and made to get up.

“No, no,” Carlos shook his head as he headed for the fridge. “I’ll be right there, you stay.”

Cecil settled back down, lacing his hand back into his work as he watched Carlos drink deeply from a carton of Orange Milk. A few drops dribbled from the corner of his mouth and traced down his cheek. Cecil loved this, loved the way that small line of beverage always managed to sneak its way out of Carlos’ mouth no matter how hard the scientist tried to prevent it. The first time he had pointed it out, Carlos had been mortally embarrassed and his tan skin had shown a shade darker as his face burned. Cecil had reassured him that he thought it was adorable, not gross, but from then on, Carlos tried his darndest to stop it from happening.

Cecil smiled as he remembered this. What most people would consider trivial moments in a relationship, he cherished and recalled time after time.

“What’s that you’re working on?” Carlos yawned as he plopped down next to Cecil, leaning his tired head on his boyfriend’s shoulder as he watched his hands dance rhythmically. He had found it weird, at first, that Cecil knit. For one thing, guys weren’t usually knitters, and for another, he was using yarn that didn’t exist. Carlos had run tests on it, with Cecil’s permission, of course (you don’t take from a knitter’s yarn stash unless you want to risk losing an appendage), but results came up moot of anything actually worth documenting. Cecil had explained to him the history of the banishment of yarn, but this still did little to help Carlos explain it.

Cecil’s hobby did, however, give him some familiarity in the quirkiness of Night Vale. His grandmother had been an avid crocheter, and though they weren’t technically the same craft, Carlos dismissed his analytical side for the sake of enjoying the memories that would come flooding back as he watched Cecil work.

Cecil held the blanket up for Carlos to see. Elegant spirals of rich plum and onyx cascaded through and over each other, all confined to the simple yet endless boundaries of a nearly completed rectangle. Carlos ran his hand over the fabric, his fingers stopping in some areas where the yarn had currently winked out of sensory existence.

“Mmm, it’s beautiful.” His voice was distant with fatigue but held genuine ardor for the lovely piece, and he nuzzled his head on Cecil’s shoulder. His hand fell back to cover a huge yawn before coming to rest on Cecil’s knee.

Cecil looked down at his boyfriend whose eyes were drooping and breathing was beginning to slow. He set his work beside him and gently guided Carlos’ head down onto his lap who curled his legs up on the couch as he lay down. This was Cecil’s second favorite part about waiting up for him.

“Mmmm…” Carlos murmured as Cecil began delicately working his fingers through his hair. Sharp yet soft fingertips grazed tenderly across his scalp, igniting every follicle in delicious tingles that raced down his spine to spread out and engulf the rest of his body in pleasurable nerve activation.

 _“Que se siente tan bien…”_ he murmured as weak gooseflesh erupted across his skin and his thoughts cascaded into almost incoherent bliss, Cecil meaningfully tangling and untangling his fingers.

Cecil had to stifle a small giggle of ardor. He loved to hear Carlos talk in his native language, and his fingers never failed to elicit those rich, accented words.

Leaning down, he blew gently on Carlos cheek as he traced a line down his jaw with a fingernail, smiling at the way his mouth opened ever so slightly in response to the touch. With his other hand, he took a few of the locks that tumbled over Carlos’ ear and and guided the graying hairs behind his ear before taking it out and starting all over again.

“Mmmuh love you so much, Cecil.” Carlos mumbled, almost inaudibly.

Cecil looked down at his boyfriend with an expression that could only be described as immeasurable love and adoration.

“Shhhh,” He cooed with his elegant voice, biting his bottom lip as he beamed, fingers still caressing, creating almost inhuman pleasure.

It was only a few seconds later that he heard the distinct, quiet snore that meant Carlos had fallen asleep. He placed a tender kiss on his cheek before gently lifting his head so he could scoot out from underneath. He replaced his lap with one of the plush pillows before lifting his knitting from the couch.

He looked at his blanket then at Carlos, and nodded to a decision only he could hear. Sitting on the floor, Khoshekh still just as adamant about attacking his _not-yarn_ , he quietly cast off the stitches. It took him a few moments because there were so many (486 to be exact). When the last stich was bound off, he broke the _not-yarn_ with his teeth and pulled it through to fasten off. He stood and admired the entirety of his work, the fantastic loops of the intarsia seeming to swirl and glimmer with sentience, but confined, nonetheless, to exist as something that shouldn’t (and didn’t) actually exist.

He tenderly lay the blanket over Carlos, whose hand pulled it close in response to the touch of added fabric. Cecil stood back, noting every detail of the scene before him so he could store this memory forever: Carlos curled into a tired ball, his perfect hair splaying wildly after its massage, one hand clutching the blanket, the other beneath it. He reached down and delicately removed Carlos’ glasses, folding them and placing them on the table to the right of the couch. He then turned to Khoshekh, who was sitting indifferently, and motioned toward the bedroom (he didn’t want Carlos to jolt awake from a sneezing attack). The cat flicked his tail up as he sauntered across the living room and Cecil followed.

The swirls of the blanket shimmered in the moonlight that hushed in through the window, looking as though they wished to escape from their rectangular prison and dance through existence wishing they could too. But they couldn’t and so they stayed, caught in between truth and lies, as the yarn decided to cooperate and remain in both visual and sensory existence to keep Carlos warm as he slept.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> I dunno you guys, this just popped up out of nowhere and I had to get it down. This is kinda me venting my knitting nerdiness, BUT I actually love the idea of Cecil knitting and the whole banishment of yarn. I can totally see the City Council doing that. I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it! Leave a comment if you did and let me know what you think about my random knitfic (heh, it almost rhymes). Oh, and to those that are following along with New Girl (yunno even though there's only the first chapter out) I am working on getting chapter 2 out asap! So hang tight. ^-^ (Oh yeah! Did anyone catch the masturbation innuendo/false lead up? Hehe, I had fun with that...)


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